


Marry Me

by DirtyEffinHippy



Category: BioWare - Fandom, Cullen - Fandom, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Cullen Rutherford Fluff, Dorian Being Dorian, Family History, First Love, First Time, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Marriage, POV Cullen Rutherford, cullen reminiscing, past reference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-13 05:13:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5696344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DirtyEffinHippy/pseuds/DirtyEffinHippy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen Rutherford, the Commander of the Inquisition and the Lion of Thedas. His commands could move heaven and earth for his cause but no cause is greater than the love of a certain Tevinter Altus. A short story of surprise, beginnings and to a happy end. </p><p>(Also titled: I absolutely suck at summaries)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marry Me

**Author's Note:**

> OK ... so - I figured after 9 freaking playthroughs of this game (I've always been obsessed with all things Bioware) I needed to do a Cullrian story. They are my favorite and I just had to write them! It's a oneshot but pretty long. 
> 
> Dorian has a surprise for Cullen but it is Cullen that takes Dorian's breath away. Also this references how they became a "we".

"Dorian ... Dorian, wait - where in the Maker are we going?" 

Cullen trailed after the mage, the man's pace much faster than usual and the blonde found himself struggling to keep up. 

It was late, if he were to guess Cullen would place the time mere hours away from the break of dawn. The air in Skyhold was crisp, knife-like and unforgiving. Which made the fact that Dorian had all but busied him out in the cold all the more confusing. 

Corypheus was obliterated only months ago by the Inquisition's efforts. Lavellan, Dorian, Cassandra, and Varric were the small group that had been responsible for the finishing blow. And her Dragon, of course. Where Lavellan managed to find that feat was still a bit hazy to the Commander, even in spite of reading and re-reading the report given to him by Leliana. Mysticism had never been his forte. Give him a sword and an enemy to fight, and the Commander could lead among the strongest. Give him tales of fancy and of magic, he was left lacking with even basic understanding. His faith in the blessed Maker aside, a soldier's mind is just that: a soldier's mind. 

Which made the blossomed relationship between the mage and the ex-templar even more of a mystery to behold. The feelings he had garnered towards a certain Tevinter Altus caught him by surprise, as much as anyone else. A few games of chess here and there soon became habitual. The nights where Cullen would work on his given reports far past his capacity brought Dorian to his doorstep more than once to bring him to the Herald's Rest for a "much needed break from the mundane", as the mage so often put it. The Chargers were good enough company, as well as the ever exuberant rogue, Sera. Varric would often accompany them for a few pints, much to Cullen's suspicion. He was still missing more than one pair of small clothes from being bested at that ridiculous game, Wicked Grace.

The real treat, which took Cullen far too long to admit, was the presence of the silver-tongued and breathlessly handsome Dorian. It quickly became an addiction much like Lyrium, only far sweeter than he could have ever imagined. More often than not, Cullen found himself staring holes into the door to his office hoping that the mage would grace his quarters.  _Just for a game, a break, perhaps_ was what he always told himself but on some level, he knew. He had grown comfortable in the other man's presence. And that comfort bled into other feelings, much less mild in nature. During games of chess when the sunlight would catch the buckles of that ridiculous armor just right casting ethereal rays of light splashed upon warm, caramel skin. Grey, almost silver, eyes would flash at him when he would be caught staring for just a little longer than necessary. The lilt of the man's speech, the impassioned tones he would rave in when speaking of his countrymen, of his magic. Soon, Cullen actually looked forward to listening to tales of newfound spells, he even began to see the artistry in it. Imagine that! Former Knight-Commander Cullen, not only taken in but enamored in spellcraft! What a sense of humor the Maker has, he had thought to himself on more than one occasion. The Lion of the Inquisition reduced to wonder-laced giggles at the small little tricks Dorian would show him in secret. 

If only the enemy had learned of that, 

now there was a weapon to hold against the Inquisition. A besotted, giggling Commander. Not quite so fearsome, not quite the image needed for the force that was The Herald and her army. 

And then came the night when Dorian had just a bit too much to drink and everything was laid bare. Dorian had visited him in his office once more, which had become quite the habit as well like the games of chess. Sometimes when the mage knew that Cullen could not be wisked away from his duties, the Altus would come bearing gifts of hand-picked wine and platters of assorted cheeses and bread. Though, thankfully, Dorian managed to leave out the little snacks that "tasted of despair", for whatever that means. 

That particular night, the mage had a basket of wines and no glasses. And no food. That right there struck the Commander as odd. 

The mage plopped down on the newly acquired chair heavily, the one Dorian absolutely insisted upon ("I can't very well stand about like an interloper, Commander, how gouache. You Fereldans ... no sense of suitable hospitality. Humbling, I'm sure"). 

He had opened the first bottle, a dazzling smile upon his face with only a small hint of a quiet desperation. Cullen moved to speak but the man only silenced him as he took a large drag straight from the bottle. 

"Now, now, Commander, I'm willing to share. How  _is_ our favorite ex-templar doing this evening, hm? Combating those ferocious papered demons, I see." 

The familiar wit and teasing tone only put him further on edge. Something was wrong. Cullen couldn't quite place it, but something was off with everything about that night. The wine, the edge of panic, the overzealous attempts at humor-laced distraction. This was also the first night that the mage had come to see Cullen since returning from a very hush, hush mission to Redcliff. Lavellan refused to write a report on it saying that the missive was a personal one, much to the rest of the Advisers' dismay. The fact that it was only Dorian to accompany her with a small troupe of nameless guards only exemplified curiousity surrounding the mysterious quest. 

"Are you quite all right, Dorian?" 

"Hm? Why wouldn't I be, Commander? Fine wine, handsome company - what a delectable evening. Absolutely sinful, is what it is." The bitter note in which Dorian spoke only escalated his concern. An abrupt, humorless laugh cut straight through his gut as the mage took another, long drull from the bottle. 

Cullen moved from behind his desk to retrieve the bottle of wine before the man disposed of it in one swallow. Dorian, startled, had swiped at the Commander and guarded the bottle as if it were some special treasure.

His brow furrowed down with worry as he looked at the guarded expression on the mage’s face. So unlike Dorian’s usual blasé mask of confidence bordering on arrogance. No, this expression spoke of defenses a mile high and something dangerously close to hurdling over those defenses at any given moment.

“Care to speak of it? Something is clearly bothering you.”

Another humorless laugh, “Are we so familiar, _Commander Cullen?_ ” The mage spat out his title as if it were a bitter taste in his mouth. Venom coaxed his name as he bent down to retrieve an unopened bottle seeing the one that Cullen had relinquished as a lost cause.

Cullen’s hand moved on its own accord, he did not even realize that he had moved until he felt the warm skin of Dorian’s cheek underneath his cupped palm. The mage’s eyes flickered with confusion and then into panic as he hurled himself backwards out of his reach.

The mage was drunk that night.

“Don’t you TOUCH me!”

"Please, just speak to me. Surely I can help.”

The other man scoffed, “Help!? Oh, the man wishes to help! Well that makes it all better, hm? Pray tell, Commander, how do you suppose to do that?”

Cullen felt as though he were walking a fine line made of brittle glass. One wrong move would have everything screeching into disaster.

He whispered softly, “However I can, Dorian, you need only to tell me.”

The silence was suffocating, deafening. A thick static hung heavy in the air as the two men stared at each other.

“I do not need the help of a dog lord, I assure you.” The voice was low, no menace in it, yet there was a growl to it. Cullen couldn’t place the sound or the expression coming from the other man, he was only thrust further into confusion and a feeling of helplessness.

“Dorian … I,” He tried softly. His hand reached up to rub at the base of his neck, a nervous tic. “I wish to help, if you will have me. Even if you do not wish to talk, allow me to help. You are a tremendous asset to the Inquisi …” he stuttered, that was all wrong. That’s not just what Dorian was to him. Not anymore. “You are important to me, not just to our cause. If something is troubling you, allow me to shoulder some of the burden.”

The sigh that escaped the mage’s lips spoke volumes. “This is all very … I could do with a bit less of Tevinter, hm?”

What? Screw it.

“What?” Cullen let his inner confusion known, couth be damned.

Dorian rubbed at the ridge of his nose, a familiar gesture to Cullen when he often suffers from his headaches.

“You truly don’t know, do you?”

“I am not entirely sure what it is I do or do not know. I am truly lost, is what I am. What is it that I don’t know, Dorian?”

The mage sat back down, gentler than before. No longer clutching a bottle of wine as if it were a life line, Cullen noticed.

“My … Father. That was the nasty little business in Redcliff. I had asked the Inquisitor not to speak of it, I did not know that she would also keep it from her ‘trusty advisor counsel’.” The man was fidgety. Maker, Cullen had never imagined that day that he would see Ser Dorian Pavus of Minrathous suffer from a bought of nerves.

“He had come to take me home, his errant son. He feels as though this whole Inquisition business is simply a way for me to act out and shy away from my duties as the Pavus namesake. Oh, no, I’m sorry, dutiful son.” The sneer that flashed across those beautiful, familiar features made Cullen’s heart ache. He remained silent waiting for the mage to continue.

“Back home … my … choices are frowned upon to say the least. I was to be a good son, marry some poor girl in the hopes to breeding the next perfect scion of Tevinter lineage. Bloodlines and Blood Magic, should be a Tevinter slogan, really. A certain charm, don’t you think?”

“Choices? To join the Inquisition, or …?” He let the question trail off.

Another uncharacteristic scoff. “No, no, my sweet, innocent man.” Deep breath. “It is no secret that I … enjoy the company of men.” The blank look on Cullen’s face must have frustrated the mage because he blurted out the next bit in a rush, “Sex, Cullen, I enjoy sex with men. Father did not approve of this, his precious investment laid to waste. Why find love when you can make babies to sell out the family name while spending your entire life screaming on the inside, hm? Selfish, I suppose, to want to choose for myself. Yes, I managed to keep my shameful trysts in secret closets and hidden passageways. I was not happy but who cares for a son’s happiness? Happiness, my good man, does not place you a seat in the Magisterium.”

Cullen crouched down so that he was no longer hovering over the mage, he had hoped that his expression conveyed that he was listening with an open heart.

“Until one night, I overheard a conversation I was not meant to hear. My father, the man that raised me to believe that blood magic was the most abhorrent signs of weakness and was never to be used, had gathered a few of the slaves for a …” he let out a choked sob, “for a way to c-change me.”

Cullen felt his spine go cold at the implication. Surely that could not mean …

“Change you? Dorian, change you how?” the question sounded desperate, even to Cullen’s ears.

“There was a ritual. For me. Never mind that it had a very high possibility of rendering me stupid and paralyzed. No, that would be far better than having a _broken_ son. Blood magic,” he spit the term out, “THAT was his solution. To change me, to FIX me, even if it meant to kill me. Better to have no son at all than to have me, I suppose. Upon this delicious little discovery, I ran. A coward’s way, I am sure, but I could do little else. Living a lie … it festers inside you, like poison. You have to fight for what’s in your heart.”

He looked into Cullen’s eyes as he spoke the last part. Barely a whisper and a gleam of unshed tears threatened at the edges of the mage’s eyes. The Commander’s heart shattered at the sight.

He moved, once more, without even realizing it. Both hands grabbed at the sides of Dorian’s head as his lips crashed down furiously. Dorian let out a small yelp of surprise before he slowly bled into the kiss. Their lips melted together in a slow, rhythm. Cullen let out a small moan as he moved to kiss the mage’s cheeks, his chin, and yes – the unshed tears to catch them before they had a chance to fall.

“Maker,” he breathed out, “Maker, Dorian, I am so sorry. You are safe here, you are safe. Do you hear me?” He grabbed Dorian’s head once more to look into his eyes, he felt a fierce determination straight down to his toes. Everything inside of Cullen was screaming at him to protect this man and in that moment he realized his own truth.

He was in love.

He was in love with a mage.

The strongest, most beautiful person he has ever known.

The Commander of the Inquisition was head over heels for the mage that sat before him now, a look of hope, fear, and surprise all upon his dashingly handsome features.

Dorian’s hands came up to hook on Cullen’s arms, his fingers trapping the other man where he was.

“You are not broken.” His voice was vehement, the voice he used on the battlefield to inspire his troops. The voice that said that he was the Commander. He not only could, but would move mountains if that was his task.

“You are NOT broken. You are the most amazing person I have ever met. You are charming and intelligent. Skillful with your craft and your wit. You cheat at chess when you think I’m not looking and you smile the most dazzling smile when you cause me to blush with your ministrations. You have been my rock here, you have kept me going in times where I thought I had nothing left to give. You are Dorian fucking Pavus – and you are marvelous.”

The sob that escaped the mage’s throat was heartbreaking as a single tear trailed down his cheek, “Oh, Amatus…” Dorian breathed out as he met Cullen’s lips once more, far more impassioned than the first.

 

That night, Cullen and Dorian made love. Several times, in fact. The Lion and the Serpent. In those moments, Cullen knew that he was irreparably his and that nothing, should the Maker be willing, would ever tear them apart.

 

Much time had passed since that night. Nights of struggle, both with Dorian’s warring thoughts of past and future and Cullen’s withdrawal, the nightmares. Nights of passion and of tender sweet care. Casual games of chess and harsh battles with the enemies of the Inquisition, the enemies of Thedas. Time in which they grew together as two lost souls finally finding their missing piece.

 

“Dorian, I am asking you to tell me where we are going!”

The mage looked over his shoulder not slowing his pace a single bit. The grin that graced his features still made Cullen’s heart flutter to this day and he instinctively returned a similar grin to his partner.

“Ah, ah, ah, Commander … what fun would a surprise be if I were to spoil it for you? Come now, you oaf of a man, we’re almost there!”

The excitement in his lover’s voice made Cullen’s stomach feel warm and he felt his feet carry him even faster to meet Dorian at his side, where he belongs.

A few moments later, they finally stopped. And the sight almost made Cullen collapse with how his knees weakened. This is the pond that Cullen spent his childhood at, the one place that he held so dear to his heart. This place that stood witness to monumental changes in the man’s life. And on the small dock that settled into the calm waters were lit candles warmly lighting the surroundings accompanied by a few of their favourite treats.

He could feel the goofy, lopsided smile that fell on his lips. “What is this?” he breathed out in a tone of wonder. “How did you … Dorian, how?”

His lover’s laugh sounded like music. “Ah, my darling Commander, unlike you, I actually respond to Mia’s letters” Dorian tossed a saucy wink at him causing his smile to grow even wider, “and her and I, being the brilliant minds that we are – naturally – came up with the perfect little getaway. You do deserve it, after all. Big changes for the Commander. Enemy vanquished, a New World Order, Thedas singing its tales of the brave Inquisition. Whatever shall you do, hm? My dashing hero.” The wink and Dorian’s genuine smile – the smile that Cullen has come to realize he would do absolutely anything to see – clicked everything into place. Every trial, every tribulation – he would do it all a thousand times over if it always brought him back to this place. To his lover’s side. His partner.

“Marry me.”

The question, alright – demand, barely came out a whisper.

“Pardon, Amatus?”

Cullen rushed forward and grabbed both of the mage’s hands in his own. Golden eyes met with startling grey. Cullen tried to put all of his love and admiration into his gaze so that Dorian never had to question how loved he truly was.

“Marry me, love. Marry me, this is – Maker, this … you, I …”

Dorian’s lips were upon his before he could stumble through the rest of his cluttered sentence. The heat of their breaths mingling, competing with the cold air. Hands curled into golden locks as two strong arms hoisted the mage into the air, spinning him in a childlike moment of glee.

“Yes, Amatus, I wouldn't dare to dream of anything I could possibly want more!” He exclaimed with that dazzling smile of his and a laughter that wormed its way into Cullen's core. The smile that the Commander would move mountains for. The smile that was his for the rest of his days.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Dragon Age piece, I would LOVE Kudos and Comments - this is me dipping my toes into the DA fanfic-verse, I'd love to continue writing! Kudos and Comments would just make my day <3 Thank you so much!


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